Self Inflicted
by Bambi Bamboozled
Summary: "I don't give a crap who you are! Your secret is safe with me, but you will die if you don't receive immediate medical attention and I don't need Batman bleeding out on my apartment floor!" Bruce/OC
1. The Intruder

**Chapter One: The Intruder**

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Claire Harding sighed loudly as she looked up from her textbook. She was sitting on her bed, back against the wall and legs crossed, surrounded by papers and medical journals trying to cram a little bit of study in before the weekend. It was wintertime in Gotham city and unfortunately for Claire, her tiny apartments heating system only had two settings: it didn't work at all, or it worked too well. It was currently on the latter, and the young woman was sweating like a sinner in church. Uncrossing her legs carefully as to not disturb the papers, Claire scooted off her bed with a slight hop and walked quickly into the next room, which was her very tiny living/entry room and unlocked the 'balcony' doors (she scoffed at the thought of the small surface outside the doors as being a balcony. She could barely stand out there without fearing she'd fall and die.) Deciding that if she left the doors open for a few minutes it would leave the apartment a little cooler, Claire pushed the doors open, a small smile gracing her face at the snow that was falling. Moving back inside as she heard what sounded like an explosion a few streets away, Claire took in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes closed before walking quickly back into her bedroom searching for her phone, shivering from something other than the cold. The young woman quickly found her mobile on her dresser and began dialling the Gotham PD hotline when she heard a loud crash and thud from her living room. Jumping, Claire turned on the spot, facing the doorway; her heart entered her throat as she laid eyes on the black clad figure lying on her floor. His armour was ripped and torn and burnt away almost everywhere and provided no shelter for his body anymore, having become unwearable. Claire hung up the phone and dropped it to the floor without even looking as she began to take steps towards the figure. At the sound of the phone falling his head whipped to look at her, the mask he wore in a permanent glare even though his eyes looked glazed over. Claire's breathing was uneven and her hands shook as she carefully and hesitantly walked past the figure (who was now watching her intently) and closed her balcony doors, drawing the curtains shut. With a shaky breath the young woman turned around, her back pressed against the doors and she jumped when the figure let out an excruciating yell of pain and that's when she saw the pool of blood that was beginning to form under him on her carpet.

"Oh my god!" She breather out and before she could blink she found herself on her knees by his side attempting to find where he was bleeding from. The mask figure tried in vain to push her away with guttural grunts but Claire persisted, pushing his interfering hands away from her as she spied the gash in his armour, where blood was leaking profusely. She slowed for a moment before turning to the man who was now staring at her slightly confused (from what she could tell). Grabbing his hands she quickly pressed them to his wound and attempted to get behind him and sit him up.

"Look, I want to help you but I need you to take off this sui- Oh my god!" She cried almost dropping him and the man finally spoke.

"What is it?" He demanded in a gravelly voice that made Claire falter. "Y-your mask has been cracked open at the back, you're bleeding there as well. I suspect you've cracked your head open." She came around to his front again, the man looked about ready to pass out and Clair snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Batman! Hey look! Listen, I can help you I'm a medical student, but I need you to take off this suit. The whole thing, I need to treat you, you could literally die." She told him, squeezing her eyes shut again and shifting her mind into hospital mode. Batman shook his head but before he could protest Claire cut in. "I don't give a shit who you are! Your secret is safe with me, but you will die if you don't receive immediate medical attention and I don't need Batman bleeding out on my apartment floor!" She exclaimed flicking her fingers in front of his face again and the man stared at her, searching her face for something. Claire didn't know what it was but he apparently found it because the next thing she knew he was nodding and helping her lift himself so she could take him into her bedroom. They stumbled into the room, his arm wrapped tightly around her, but not enough in the right frame of mind to carry himself. Claire lent him against her dresser as she swept all her books and papers onto the floor, discarding her study completely as she helped the man sit down on the soft bed. His first reaction was to try and lay down but Clair stopped him.

"I don't know how this armour works, you'll need to help me get if off…" She trailed off when he motioned to a panel on his neck. Claire pushed his cape all to one side and pressed a button in on the panel, breathing in sharply when the suit seemed to unlock itself, pulling open down his spine. He had already begun taking his braces off when he almost fell forward, the young woman catching him and leaning him back against her slightly. She reached forwards and starting from his neck, pulled the suit away from his body and down his arms. It was hard doing it from behind but she couldn't risk him falling back again. Seeing it was only his torso and head that were injured Claire left the armoured suit hanging at his hips as she made her way to his front as he seemed to be a little more stable now. She slowly and carefully lifted her hands to what was left of the back of his cowl, gripping it and taking a deep breath as she lifted it from his head, the man only wincing slightly as the shell grazed his wound. Claire's eyebrows formed a frown when she found herself staring into the face of Bruce Wayne but she pushed all the questions and thoughts away when he fell forward again and she laid him down, fetching her medical kit from under her bed moving into complete hospital mode.

Claire tended to his skull first. After cleaning the blood away she concluded that the mask had taken most of the damage and left him with a large gash. She thanked god it wasn't a cracked head and stitched it up cleanly. Next she focused on the apparent stab wound in his side. This was much more complex, the young woman finding shards of glass trapped inside the wound. It was bloody and terrible but it didn't hit anything major so once again, Claire thanked god she wouldn't be dealing with a dead billionaire/vigilante. He stayed awake the whole time, wincing slightly every so often but not making a sound otherwise. He also watched her every move which unnerved Claire to no end It was almost like he expected her to produce a knife and stab him again. The young woman shook the thought away as she stitched him back together, getting him to sit up when she told him she needed to wrap the wound. He obeyed tiredly, his eyes drooping, but the intensity of his gaze didn't falter. When Claire had finished wrapping the wound she told him to lie back down.

"Stay here, take off the rest of this suit and go to sleep. You need rest, you've lost a lot of blood." Bruce didn't even attempt to argue; instead he removed the suit (after Claire had turned around of course) and laid down, closing his eyes. As Claire made to turn the light off she cast one more look at him, the surprise at discovering Batman's identity finally hitting her and she flicked the switch, and left the room, shutting the door behind her. She leaned heavily on it as she sunk to the ground blinking and struggling not to have a panic attack. Her breathing quickened and the young woman closed her eyes and took deep breaths willing the attack away. When she had calmed down sufficiently and her hands had stopped shaking, Claire stood up with all the grace of a rhino, making to clean up the blood stain that was forming on her floor.

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**A/N: Hey guys! this is just a quick idea I had and couldn't get out of my head. I'll write a little more and post it up, but tell me what you think!**


	2. So Wrong

**Chapter Two: So Wrong**

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Bruce slept for the two-ish days, Claire waking him periodically for water, food and changing his bandage, but he was out of it. He ran a fever the first 18 hours and Claire hadn't left his bedside for anything except to run to the kitchen to replace his ice. When the fever had finally broken, the young woman had deemed it safe for her to fall asleep and had done so, sitting on the floor next to the bed, her arms resting on the mattress and her head resting on her arms. It wasn't the most comfortable position she'd ever slept in, but then again it wasn't the most uncomfortable either. She woke next at about 11 P.M. Sunday Night, the bed underneath her arms jostling as its host moved.

"What're you doin'?" She mumbled sleepily, rubbing at her eyes. "Sorry, I was trying to find something for me to sleep in… it's a little bit cold." Bruce replied and Claire shot up, suddenly awake.

"You're up! How do you feel?" She asked, placing a hand on the man's forehead and deeming it cool enough, removed it. Bruce raised an eyebrow. "A little worse for wear, I have a headache, but I've had much worse before. As I said, I was a little cold…" He told her and Claire nodded. "Stay here, I'll go grab you some sweats to sleep in. You'll probably need some more rest for your injuries. W-we can discuss how you want to leave when I get back." She said and the man only nodded, his eyes not leaving her as she backed out of the room and into her living area. Like a zombie, Claire walked to her front door and opened it, closing it behind her and looking left and right, trying to remember what she was doing. Having jogged her memory, the young woman quickly flung herself across the hall to the apartment across from her and knocked on the door. It wasn't that late yet and she figured her elderly neighbour would be awake still. She guessed correctly as the door opened to reveal and old African American woman, leaning heavily on her walking stick.

"Claire dear? What's the matter? How can I help?" She asked and Claire smiled, shoving her hands in her hoody pockets at the last minute in case they still had blood on them. "Hi Mrs. Fallon, I have a friend staying over tonight and he forgot to pack his pajama pants, I was just wondering if Casey had pair he could borrow?" She asked referring to the woman's grandson whom she held custody of and the old woman smiled, ushering her inside.

Claire returned to her apartment ten minutes later, hurriedly fumbling with her door handle and rushing to close it after herself as she walked quickly into her bedroom.

"The lady across from me lent me her grandson's sweats so you can…. What are you doing?" She asked as she spotted the man several feet away from her bed and inspecting the items on her desk instead. He held in his hands two photo frames one of her family when she was a little girl; her parents stood either side of her with large smiles on their faces. It was the first photo that they had taken when they arrived in America from Ireland. The second photo was a newspaper clipping with the caption "Retrial jails Harding family murderer and others thanks to Batman" with the first photo as the image next to the text in the clipping. Bruce turned to her slightly, motioning to the pictures as Claire waked over to him.

"I'm sorry." He said watching her as she snatched the frames from him.

"Why? Batman uncovering the dirty judges led to a retrial. A fair one where the bastard got what he deserved." She said sourly, placing the photos back on her desk, but offering him a small smile. It was odd to think that his man, playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, was Batman, but the broken and burnt suit and cowl behind him on the floor of her bedroom told her it was true and she sighed, shoving the pants into his hands, turning around and decidedly _not_ taking note of the fact that Batman preferred briefs. And she definitely didn't take note of how goddamn _fit_ he was either. Because he was basically her patient, and also about eight years older than her and also he was Batman, and that would be so, _so_ wrong of her. She turned back to him as he cleared his throat and looked around her room, his arms folded across his chest in a way that made his biceps bulge. Claire swallowed.

_So wrong_.

"Ugh, so what did you want to do about getting outta this hellhole?" She asked him, scratching her head and looking rather determinedly at his eyes and at no other part of his body. "Bruce Wayne probably wouldn't want to be seen dead coming out of here… And you've been gone for two days already..." She trailed off and chewed on her lip. "Is there someone I can let know where you are? There has to be someone else who knows right? It's not just you all alone?" She asked and Bruce didn't fail to notice the sadness in her voice, like she knew exactly how it felt to be alone. His eyes flickered to the photos on her desk again and he sighed. Gotham made orphans out of too many people.

"My Butler, Alfred knows. If you can somehow contact him, we can organize a pickup." Bruce told her and Claire nodded in agreement. "Do you have a phone number or…?" She asked and Bruce shook his head. "No, I don't trust conversations like this to be held over the phone. You should go to the Mansion." He said. Claire frowned, she didn't like the idea of traveling so far out of the city by taxi, which she would have to use of course since she didn't drive (it was far too expensive), but she sucked in a breath of air. There were other reasons she didn't like to travel too far away from home, but she forced herself not to think about them.

"I'll have to go tomorrow afternoon. I have Classes in the morning. Will you be okay to stay here another day or so?" Bruce nodded his head and Claire sighed, rubbing her face.

"I was going to study this weekend." She laughed mirthlessly and directed Bruce to the bed, so she could change his bandage. Bruce obeyed and sat, watching her as she worked, taking the time to truly look at the girl who had saved his life and taken to the fact he was Batman so easily. She was tall, the top of her head reached his eyes, and she had a pretty face; big eyes, a button nose, plump lips and a beautiful smile. She was thin, but filled out in all the right areas in his opinion and her dark hair was wild and curly, flying every which way and reached the middle of her shoulder blades but he guessed it would be much longer if she ever straightened it. She seemed to flinch whenever he moved though, like she was ready to throw her arms up and protect herself at any moment and that made him think about what kind of a life she had had. He felt like he could trust her though, and that was strange for him. Usually people had to earn his trust over a period of time. _"She did save your life and has continued to keep you safe in her apartment while you've recovered over the last two days."_ A voice in his head told him and he frowned. It sounded too much like his father to be comfortable.

When Claire had finished checking on his stitches and rewrapping the wound with clean bandages, she gathered up the old ones and made to move away but almost jumped out of her skin when her wrist was caught gently.

"What's your name?" He asked, realizing she hadn't told him. He knew her last name was Harding due to the framed news piece, but they hadn't mentioned her name anywhere. It was also the first time he noticed the tattoo on her arm, scrawled letters that read _'Every sinner has a future'_. He wondered about it briefly, he'd heard it before. It was part of a quote, the whole phrase reading 'Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future.' He frowned, it was an odd thing for her to have, but he let it go. Claire had to forcefully will her heart beat to lower and she took her wrist back. She didn't like being touched, especially by people she didn't know very well. It didn't even matter that he was Batman, or that he was extremely good looking when he looked at her like that… Or just when he looked at her at all. "It's Claire. Claire Harding." She told him and stood up as he began to lie back down, having exhausted his energy for the day. Before she left the room however she heard his voice speak to her in a soft tone that was completely opposite to what he had sounded like as Batman.

"Thank you, Claire. For everything."

Claire smiled to herself and she turned out the light, closing the door behind her and discarding the bloodied bandages. She hoped Karma was taking note of her actions, god knows she would need all the brownie points she could get to make up for the terrible things she'd done in her life.

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**A/N: Woo! Thanks for reading! I'm actually really excited about this story!**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO:**

**WinterRain36**

**Nachobeats823**

**LesMisNoob**

**Crazything24**

**Hermione02 (great name btw ;P)**

**Jasmine Scarthing**

**Vangie90**

**StuntedDarkness**

**and GloryDays1984!**

**Thanks all for reviewing/favoriting/following Self Inflicted! xx 3 R&R!**


	3. Love Thy Neighbour

**Chapter Three: Love Thy Neighbour**

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When Bruce woke late the next morning, he woke with a throbbing headache and a sharp, extremely painful twinge in his side. He ripped the blankets away from his body and sat up, immediately regretting the decision as his head spun. Steadying himself and waiting for the dizziness to subside the billionaire looked down at his bandages, touching at the red liquid seeping through to find it was fresh and very, very wet. He swore, somehow in his sleep he had torn his stitches. From past experience he knew how to fix himself up himself but as Alfred constantly told him, he made a bloody mess of things. As Bruce stood up he spotted a small handwritten note on the bedside table and picked it up. The paper was crumpled but the handwriting neat and cursive and it took three times (thanks to his headache) to actually process what the note was telling him.

'_I'll have left for Gotham General by the time you wake up, so make yourself comfortable and help yourself to food and drink. I'll catch a taxi to your home after I finish classes and I'll speak with your friend. Try not to move around too much, I don't want you tearing your stitches. If you need it for whatever reason, my medical kit is on the desk. Please stay inside and stay safe._

_Yours truly, Claire Harding'_

Bruce blinked at the note and then placed it back on the table, noticing that she'd set out a rather large pullover hoody. After hobbling over to the desk and removing his soaking bandages, the man quickly and carefully cut away the old stitches, and replaced them with new ones. When he had finished he frowned at his work. If he thought that his father being a doctor would have helped him at all, he was dead wrong. The stitches were messy, but they would do. Quickly wrapping himself up again, Bruce grabbed the pullover and wriggled into it, checking his wound and stretching his legs and torso in the most non-disruptive way he could manage as his eyes found the photo of Claire's family on her desk again. He was glad that his work as Batman had put away her parent's murderer, part of him wanted to know what had happened. The news article didn't say much, only that they had been gunned down in an assumed robbery, but that the gunman had strong connections with the Irish mob that was why he hadn't been convicted originally. The Irish mob hadn't given Gotham too much trouble in years, since the same year Claire's parents were murdered actually, but they were getting bolder in more recent months, ever since the Batman had taken out a large number of their mercenaries. Bruce's eyebrows creased and he removed his eyes from the photo and walked towards the door in search of food. He didn't remember much about the rest of Claire's apartment since all he had really seen was her bedroom, but he remembered it being small and dingy.

Exiting her room, Bruce found himself in a small living area, two rough looking brown sofas made an 'L' shape and a cabinet where an old T.V. sat made up the room, with the front door next to the television and the balcony doors on the opposite side of the room. Directly across from where he stood, was a small open kitchen, a tiny dinning room table with three chairs in the space, and a bar like counter window next to the doorway. Bruce had never seen an apartment quite so small before, he guessed his bedroom at the manor would be twice the size of the whole house, but he could tell Claire took pride in the space; it was clean and tidy for what it was it just looked very old. It took him four steps to reach the kitchen and even though Claire had told him to help himself to whatever food he could find, he opted for an apple sitting in the small fruit bowl on the table. He knew the area her apartment was in, and he knew he shouldn't judge a book by its cover but he surmised based on what he could see that Claire Harding was rather poor. He didn't want to impose too much on her and savored his apple, staring around the kitchen, spotting something odd in on of the cupboards.

Bruce ran his fingers over a small hole in a shelf cupboard and furrowed his brow. He knew that sight anywhere and was rather confused as to why Claire had a bullet hole in her kitchen cupboard. Bruce was thinking on the possibilities when a loud banging (he refused to call it knocking) sounded on the apartment door. When he didn't answer it immediately a harsh male voice sounded through the wood.

"Harding, the damn mail man gave me your fucking mail again! I told you to fix it! If I get your shit one more time, I'm going to fucking open it!" The man shouted angrily and continued to bang on the door. Bruce moved quickly despite his wounds and headache, the mans incessant yelling and banging getting on his nerves more and more by the second, not to mention the fact that it would be Claire the man was yelling at if he wasn't there in her place. He didn't take kindly to the thought of the man threatening her. It didn't sound like this was the first time either. Swiftly he opened he door as the man was about to pound on it again, and stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a glare fixated on the short, portly man.

"Who're you?" He asked rudely, returning Bruce's glare and the younger man stood his ground. "I'm a friend of Claire's. She's not here right now. Can I help you?" He asked just as rudely, pretty much every lessons in manners Alfred had ever given him flying out the window, but he doubted the man would speak so crassly to him. The older man shoved a stack a mail towards Bruce who snatched it from him roughly. "Tell that girl if she doesn't sort this out immediately, I'll alert the superintendent. Finally give him reason he's been lookin' for to throw her ass out on the street." He said with a sneer, looking Bruce up and down, wondering where he'd seen the much better looking man before. Bruce raised an eyebrow and his voice lowered dangerously.

"Is that a threat?" he asked darkly, the urge to just deck the man rising every time he opened his mouth. The man glared even harsher at him. "Damn right it is! That bitch is nothing but trouble! At all hours of the morning those damn gang members come lookin' for her! She brings in all sort of dirt!" The man took a step back as the door behind him opened and a young African American man stepped out, his glare just as harsh as Bruce's. He was tall with an athletic build and cheek bones you could cut yourself on.

"You not givin' Miss Claire trouble again are you Collins?" He asked in a deep baritone. The portly man, Collin's looked between the newcomer and Bruce before stepping back down the hall again. "Just tell her my message." He sneered at Bruce before walking away, entering his apartment quickly. The young man shook his head and unclenched his fists.

"That bastard and the Super. have had it out for Miss Claire the day she moved in here." He said. Bruce looked towards him with a nod. "I'm glad she has someone to look out for her." The two men regarded each other before the younger male held his hand out and the two shook.

"Casey Fallon." Casey told him with a small smile which Bruce returned.

"Bruce Wayne." He said instinctively, and regretted it as recognition lit up Casey's face. "Well shit. What're you doing down here in the Narrows? Claire sure has some strange friends…" He said with the shake of his head and Bruce simply smiled at him. "I keep hearing that. That man, Collins said something about gang members looking for her. What's that about?" He asked unable to contain his curiosity, but also wanting to know if he or Claire was in any immediate danger. Casey paled a bit and looked down either side of the hall. "I'm not sure if I should say, but I guess if there's anyone who could help a sister out, it'd be you, right Mr. Wayne?" Casey asked rhetorically. _"You have no idea..."_ Bruce thought to himself with a smirk as Casey led him back inside Claire's apartment, closing the door behind him and telling him to take a seat on the couch. Bruce obeyed and sat down as carefully as he could without upsetting his wounds.

"You see it all started when her parent's moved out here from Ireland…"

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**A/N: Chapter Three Yoooo! Thanks for reading!**

**love you all! xx 3 R&R**


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